


The Family of Barty Crouch

by SubtextEquals



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubtextEquals/pseuds/SubtextEquals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bartemius Crouch Sr. must decide if he will go against everything he has ever believed in order to follow the last wishes of his wife, who has asked for the freedom of their son.</p>
<p>The story of Barty Crouch Jr.'s escape from Azkaban and the last moments of the Crouch family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Family of Barty Crouch

**Author's Note:**

> For my last college class ever, I took a course on Harry Potter. Amazingly, we were allowed to write a work of fanfiction for our term paper. After writing a fanfic for my last paper ever, getting an A was icing on the cake. A big thanks to my teacher!

When Bartemius Crouch stared into the mirror another man stared back. His face was pale, lined, and there were dark bags beneath his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full night’s sleep but he knew with certainty that it had been before his son’s arrest. He knew because every day since his wife had cried herself to sleep.

Bartemius raised his razor to his face. His hand shook and if it were not for the fact that it had been charmed not to cut skin he would have blood on his hands.

Blood on his hands.

Diligently and in short, precise movements he shaved a day’s worth of stubble from his face, sparing only his toothbrush mustache. When he was done, he set the razor aside and turned on the tap. When he was through washing his face he looked in the mirror again and again a stranger looked back.

What was he doing?

For all of his life he had taken a stand against the Dark Arts. He had risked his life and sacrificed everything to imprison not just Death Eaters but any criminal. The cells of Azkaban were full because of him and here he was about to free one of them.

His son.

His son who was a convicted Death Eater, who had been responsible for the torture and madness of two good Aurors.

He knew without a doubt that his son helped to torture them. Bartemius would never have sent him to Azkaban if there was reason to suspect. He was caught at the scene of the crime in the company of three other Death Eaters. His wife claimed otherwise but she was blinded by her love. But then wasn’t he blinded by his love for her? Why else would he be considering this?

No, not considering. He had the Polyjuice Potion ready. He had the visit to Azkaban planned. Everything was in order. Well, almost everything.

Stepping out of the bathroom he found Winky setting a dish of scrambled eggs on the kitchen. The house-elf stepped back and bowed low when she saw Bartemius.

“Master, Winky has prepared breakfast for—”

“I’m not hungry.” Bartemius said dismissively. “Come here. I have something important I must discuss with you.”

Nodding, the house-elf quickly walked in front of her master.

“Whatever Master asks Winky will do.”

“I know you will.”

In all her years serving his family, Winky had never once failed them. She was a faithful, loyal servant who would follow his orders without question, no matter what they were.

“No one can know what I’m about to tell you.” Bartemius continued. “Do you understand?”

“Winky will not tell.”

“I am bringing my son home.”

Winky could not stop herself from gasping and excitedly wringing the tea towel she wore as a toga but she did not dare interrupt.

“It will be your job to take care of him but he is not to leave this house. I will cast a spell on him but should that weaken you will keep him here. Do you understand?”

Winky nodded then, unable to contain herself, she burst out in her squeaky voice. “Oh, Master Barty home. Winky did not think she would see him. Oh, Master must be so happy and Mistress… Should Winky prepare a special dinner for—”

“No.” Bartemius said sharply. “No dinner.” He checked his watch. There was no more delaying. “That will be all.” He glanced at the table and said almost as an afterthought. “I will not be eating this morning. Throw it out.”

Winky bowed low and moved to do as ordered.

Paying her no mind, Bartemius walked to his bedroom. Euphemia was waiting there. The sunlight shone in through the curtains, no doubt lighting her face but he could not see. Her back was turned to him as she sat on the bed, staring at the covered window. She stared at something in her hands.

It had been weeks since the Healers told them that Euphemia was dying and weeks that they searched in vain for a cure. There was none, of course. They all knew the cause. After her only son had been imprisoned, Euphemia had wilted. There was no life left in her. Her last request in this life was for her son to be freed.

She asked for the impossible. Bartemius had tried to tell her but she wouldn’t listen and so he had formed a plan but at such cost…

“Euphemia…” He began, walking slowly into the bedroom. She did not turn to him. “It’s time. Are you sure…?”

Euphemia set aside what she’d been holding and stood. She swept her hair back and slowly walked to the door. As terrible as Bartemius looked Euphemia was a hundred times worse. But Bartemius only saw the woman he had married all those years ago.

“Let’s go.” She said.

“Euphie. I want you to know—” Bartemius’s voice was gentle.

“I want to see my son.” Euphemia said, paying her husband as much attention as he had paid their house-elf.

\---

The journey to Azkaban was not easy. They traveled by boat to the island. Halfway through it began to rain and it only worsened as they moved closer until there was a thunderstorm. Euphemia leaned against Bartemius, who wrapped his arm around her.

But Azkaban held a different torment. Most of the dementors were inside the prison, only a few hovering outside but Bartemius could feel the weight of them all. When they moved closer he clearly remembered the day they had brought Barty in for questioning, the day they sent him here, the day he learned that his wife was dying…

“This way, Mr. Crouch.”

Bartemius had to support his wife through the many steps leading to their son’s cell. She grasped his arm but there was no warmth in her touch.

“Crouch.”

Bartemius started at the sound of his name. It wasn’t spoken by their guide and he looked back at the cell they had just passed. A pair of sunken eyes stared back at them. Bartemius, who prided himself on his appearance, instinctively recoiled at the sight of the man’s disheveled hair and beard. But a second later it was the hand that grasped the bars of the prisoner’s cage that he noticed. The skin was almost white and stretched so tight across skin that he wondered if there was any bone he could _not_ see.

“When’s my trial?” The prisoner rasped.

The dementors guarding the door stepped closer. The prisoner flinched back for a moment but then threw himself against the door.

“WHEN’S MY TRIAL!?” He roared and he seemed to wake the rest of the prisoners, who began screaming indiscernible words.

“We’d better hurry, sir.” The guide said, his eyes flicking nervously to the prisoner. He lowered his voice.

“CROUCH!”

Bartemius quickly nudged his wife into walking again. The prisoner’s cries echoed off the walls. They could still hear them when Bartemius spoke again.

“Who was that?”

“Sirius Black, sir.”

Bartemius remembered when he had ordered the man sent to Azkaban. He had been mad then too, laughed the whole time, save for the end, when he finally realized what was happening. But the change in appearance was startling. He had been a handsome young man then. Now Azkaban had taken its toll. He wondered what it had done to Barty.

A few more minutes and the guide stopped outside the cell. “He’s here.” After a moment the door was unlocked and they were ushered into a room. A thin figure lay on the single bed in the cell.

Bartemius cleared his throat. “If you could give us some privacy.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Mother?” He heard his sons’s broken voice.

Bartemius waited until the guide’s footsteps were far away before turning.  


It wasn’t too late, some rational part of his mind said. They could still walk away from this. Azkaban’s record would be unblemished. No one would have escaped. No laws would be broken. Bartemius could return home with Euphemia and…

And she would never forgive him.

“Father.” Barty’s weak voice hardened as he saw his father step closer. His eyes narrowed. “What—”

Bartemius held up a flask of Polyjuice Potion. He plucked a hair from his dying son and one from his dying wife.

“I’m giving you your pardon. Imperio.”

\---

When Bartemius returned home he escorted his son, still disguised as Euphemia, into the den. He saw Winky peer around the doorway leading to the kitchen. Normally he would have told her to mind her own business but not tonight. Not tonight…

Using the Imperius Curse, he commanded his son to take a seat on the couch.

“Winky.” He called.

The house-elf came scurrying in from the kitchen and looked around, eager to find the boy she had once served. “Master.” She bowed low.

“Watch.”

At first the house-elf did not know what he meant and she blinked her large eyes at him. Then she saw the form that had been Euphemia morphing, changing into Barty. She let out a gasp and shook. Perhaps now she was finally aware of the danger they were all in. Should they be discovered, Bartemius doubted even Winky would be spared the consequences. Following orders was no excuse for aiding Azkaban’s first escapee.

“Barty has not had a proper meal in some time. I expect you to fix something for him.”

“Y-yes.” Winky was still trembling from head to foot. “And for you?”

“Nothing.” Bartemius doubted he could eat anything even if he were hungry.

“And Mistress Euphemia?”

“…Just Barty….” Bartemius did not bother to look over his shoulder to address the house-elf.

He went to the bedroom. There on the bed, not far from where his wife had been sitting, was a photo album, still open. He could see three people smiling up at him: a husband, a wife, and a young boy. Without a second glance he closed the album.

That family was gone.


End file.
